I 
THE HUNTER’S LIFE 
i5 
and make love, and above all, there is an incessant 
talk of the chase. Every little incident is related 
over and over again, just as a golfer analyses his 
game to the listener who can command sufficient 
patience to be bored with the dull details, and from 
my tent, I can hear how, at such and such a moment, 
bwana (master) did this or did that, and how the 
dembo (elephant) behaved under the circumstances. 
The ‘ sentinel stars have already set their watch 
in the sky,’ and now the moon, rising with glorious 
effulgence, pales the lesser lights of heaven to 
insignificance and silvers the pori with a mystery 
that thrills me silently. The shadows are cut sharp 
and intense. I lie and listen to the ebb of the noisy 
jovialities; a soft wind flaps in at my tent, and 
there is something so somnolent in the monotonous 
sound, that my senses are soon steeped in sound 
and refreshing sleep. 
Give me the life of the pori! I think it would be 
difficult to find another so full of wild, exhilarating 
excitement, hair-breadth escapes, and devil-may-care 
risks, and though the end is usually swift, perhaps 
that is better than flickering out slowly on a bed of 
sickness. If anyone has a desire to live, where 
living is really full-blooded living, let him go and 
spend some of his time among wild animal life—far 
away from the insidious comforts and the petty 
restraints of life in a civilized community. 
